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THT e05
Text It's been a few days since Hel last showed her face, during our first skirmish with her forces. Since then, we've suffered no further attacks and have established a vigil at the Gates of Valhalla. Even if Hel's forces break into the Vale again, we have a carefully-engineered response plan in place now, and we'll deal with her aggression more efficiently. The Pious don't seem to care that I've temporarily sealed the Gates, leaving some of them inside Valhalla and the rest trapped outside in wild Asgard, any more than they care that their camp was damaged by Hel's stampede of demons. I'm having Watchers keep a close eye on their operations, but they've made little progress on their Cenobium. Yet even if the land refuses to be tilled by their hands and the forest continually presses in against the foundation they're trying to lay, they don't seem to be frustrated at all. They only work with that same calm diligence, like machines. I hate machines; they remind me of Valthrudnir. Terra has... our relationship is... that is to say, I... I'm not sure. Our professional duties remain intact and unhindered, but she has all but abandoned living at the barracks to instead spend her time in my personal quarters. She insists on helping me get dressed every morning and we... talk. It's uncomfortable for me, but she presses and pressures me and usually... I feel better once we actually begin to dialogue. Aria took half a day off work the other day. I think it has to do with my personal relationship with Terra... or at least, that's what I've been told. I've spoken with Aria about keeping my professional and personal life separate and that I've already ensured neither will impact the other, and Terra insisted on having an aside with Aria as well. Aria returned from this looking uncomfortable... but she has settled, although sometimes she looks at me in a way that I feel... I don't know. Funny about. Maybe a little angry at myself about something I can't even quite identify. Everything else has settled, but that's not to say there's no pressing business to be done: within a few minutes I expect the arrival of the Valkyries, as well as Sleipnir and Antares Mīrus. I have to discuss the Pious with them, and set up a meeting with Hel. As always happens when they visit, whether it's announced or not, Gymbr has completely vanished from Valhalla. Although he couldn't leave... at least, I don't think he could cross the Giant's Denial or get through the sealed Gates... it's possible he's used a portal to go... who knows where? But that's another worry off my mind, at least for now, so I don't question it or think about it too deeply. I only try and focus on the positives as I sit here at a small table in Valhalla's immense library, reading through transcripts and documents. Even for me, the business at hand is very dry: combing through immigration and birth records, and food import documentation to check whether we need to increase or decrease the flow of staple foods from the mortal world. For upwards of ninety percent of Valhalla, food is a luxury: therefore only 'money' crops are grown, designed to produce the foods that the Blessed and others are most likely to spend money on for comfort or celebratory purposes, and to provide the feast halls with their quote-unquote 'endless' meals. Dietary needs are rarely taken into account. There are those who do still require nutrition through food to live, however, and if Valhalla is willing to feed those who don't truly need to eat, then we should be willing to extend our courtesies to those who do. As this number tends to rise and fall each year, it requires tedious adjustments that can only be done by assessing the current total of citizens who require food, prospective growth trends, and the current import volume. I don't find it interesting, but I do recognize the necessity. Every coin saved is a coin earned, and which can be put towards making Valhalla better. I might be boring, but boring people are what help keep the world stable and secure. I flip through another report, jotting several of the statistics down to help with my population growth framework, and then I begin to turn my attention back towards a paper listing the usage of wheat by percentage before a voice interrupts my almost-pleasant monotony: “Great idiot! And what, perchance, art thou doing, selling a parcel of land to creatures thou knows not even the names of!” That would be Brynhild. It's not just the way she talks that gives it away, or her voice. It's not just the childish stomping of her hooves, either. It's the very essence she exudes now that I'm aware of her, like a thunderstorm trapped in a bottle. I look up and glare at this former Valkyrie as she strides boldly over to my table. She was reborn as a winged unicorn... although instead of a natural horn, one made of crystal now juts from her skull, a prosthetic to replace a horn lost in battle several years ago. And as always, she's accompanied by the Lich, Twilight Sparkle, and her so-called husband, a Clockwork Pony that calls himself Scrivener Blooms. Scrivener Blooms always makes me feel uncomfortable. A Lich I could care less about, she's nothing different from a thousand things I deal with every day, and she's much more intelligent than many of these irritating little ponies. I know it's unfair, but because he is a Clockwork Pony, a Replicant, a project of Valthrudnir's... I'm always a little wary of him, and a little harder on his ideas. Even if he fought harder than I did against the Jötnar. Brynhild is glaring at me, and I only look sourly back before I put down my quill and look past her, over the rest of the merry band she's brought with her. I nod to Freya, who smiles at me kindly, and ignore Sleipnir's bouncing and waving. Instead, I make a moue of distaste as I see not only Antares Mīrus, the child of Brynhild and Scrivener, but also Sleipnir's daughter Aphrodisia Celeste Pie. “What is she doing here?” “Well, I'm a demon, so I'm totally not breaking the rules or anything!” trills the mare, and I groan. Yes, it's technically true: Sleipnir is something beyond a simple Blessed, and his wife Pinkamena is a First Tier demon. Aphrodisia is a First Tier demon herself, but... she was raised in a mortal world, grew up with mortal law and culture, knows more about Midgard than she does about Helheim or Valhalla... “Do not try and avoid the conversation, Kvasir, answer my damned question!” Brynhild snaps, and then she slams her front hooves down on the tabletop, scattering my papers in every which way as I glower at her sourly. Scrivener Blooms gives a lame smile and Twilight Sparkle, to her credit, appears to try and at least calm the Valkyrie down, but it's only when Freya steps forwards that Brynhild finally relents a little. Freya is also a winged unicorn. Celestia, I believe others call her, like they call Brynhild by the name 'Luna.' Cute names, I suppose, but I'll always prefer their true names... I know the Valkyries do as well, even if Sleipnir seems to like the new name he's taken on. Freya is intelligent, cultured, and in a way... cunning. She knows politics inside and out, how to manipulate, how to turn things in her favor and guide them along in whatever direction she chooses. She's someone who I've learned a lot from over the years, to be entirely honest... and who I look forwards to learning more from as well. Not that she doesn't have her quirks: the key that hangs from one ear can testify to that, with her... odd relationship with a Draconequus, of all things. Then again, I suppose I'm not one to talk with Terra as my mistress, so to speak. But maybe that's helped me understand her a little more: I never really did get before now precisely how their relationship could even exist. “I think I understand why you did this, Kvasir, but I would have appreciated more notice. I have to ask, though... have the Pious asked for anything else? And could they be affiliated with Hel in any way?” Freya asks, and I smile wryly at this thought. “The only thing I'm sure of, Freya, is that the Pious and Hel have nothing to do with each other.” I pause, then scowl and brush my papers quickly away from where Brynhild is attempting to read them. Sleipnir is still waving at me like an idiot but I continue to ignore him, as well as his daughter's childish giggles. “And they haven't pressed any issue, even reopening the Gates. As I'm sure you're aware, Hel is currently testing my forces.” “I am. We heard quite a bit of discussion on that subject already, as a matter of fact.” Freya replies eloquently, and I nod to her before Brynhild pokes at the larger mare with her crystal horn. Freya only gently pushes her younger sibling away, unfettered by her childish aggression; she's had more practice at maintaining her calm than I have. Something I admire but far from wish to endure myself. “I also believe you wished to speak to Antares on the subject of his terms of acceptance to serving as a Knight of Heaven.” “When you say it like that, Freya, you make it sound as if I've already agreed to modifying the laws of Paradise for his privilege alone.” I reply moodily, although admittedly what irks me the most is the fact that I know my interview with Antares is likely going to end with me making him a liaison to Valhalla. I would just prefer the stallion not have this knowledge from the start and actually attempt to make a good impression on me, instead of taking advantage of his... special birthright. To his credit, Antares' behavior has improved from the child he used to be. He has matured over the years, set goals for himself, and during his approved visits to Valhalla he has behaved appropriately and done the extra work asked of him. Right now he looks nervous, and I study him for a few moments before finally sighing and letting my eyes flick to ever-cheerful, still waving Sleipnir, saying drolly to the earth-pony shaped demideity: “Yes, it's very nice to see you as well.” Sleipnir nods a few times, then slaps his nephew on the back – almost knocking him flat – as he declares: “I shall vouch for Antares, friend Kvasir! He shan't let thee down if thou will only give him but a single chance!” Antares smiles lamely as he picks himself up, and Brynhild nods fervently, overriding anything her son might want to say as she adds firmly: “And if thou shan't give him a fair chance, great dumb god-thing, I shall make it hoof party in thy face's house!” I look at Brynhild as Scrivener and Twilight both awkwardly drag her away from the table a few paces, making her huff, and then I sigh tiredly and roll my eyes. To his credit, Antares isn't reacting much either way: in the past he would be making a scene whether he meant to or not, but now he's only sitting there, looking embarrassed but not flinching or acting like a child when my eyes rove over him. It's a good first assessment. I turn my eyes back towards Freya, and say quietly: “I haven't heard anything from Hel lately, but I have no doubt she'll show up shortly, to force a meeting even if you're not yet ready for one. She wants this very badly, as I outlined in my letter.” “You mentioned she was willing to trade an orb of soulstone for it: soulstone shaped and charged by her own hand. And you mentioned that you're going to be passing it on to an ally of yours.” Freya's craft and cunning both clearly show in the way she makes these statements, lays down evidence... and at the same time, uses them to ask a clear question. I don't want to lie to her. It's not just that I'm well-aware she'll easily trap me in any lie I make, that even if I am a master of politics, her experience and candor both are far beyond my own... it's that it feels like it would be... wrong, to lie to any of these strange creatures. Ponies, Valkyries, demons, whatever they might call themselves or be... I've let myself get close to them. But not in a bad way, I think. But all the same, I can't tell them about Gymbr: am I lying through omission? Perhaps, but I don't know if I entirely believe in that concept. After all, we can't be expected to tell even our closest friends every little detail of our day, any more than we can reveal every secret we have at leisure. Logic is black and white, but life is not: that is part of the reason that I often find myself so frustrated with my duties as an administrator, trying to reconcile a particular view of the world with the way the world actually works. Finally, I respond tactfully and slowly: “The ally who wants this artifact is very powerful, and... I recognize that I am putting a dangerous object into the hands of an entity that may not always have Valhalla's best interests at heart. But he has promised his assistance, as long as I keep my promise to maintain his privacy and secrecy.” There's silence for a few moments, and Brynhild opens her mouth, presumably to scoff at me... but Freya is quick to raise a hoof and quiet her. After a moment, she turns to me and says quietly: “I trust you, Kvasir, and I trust your judgment. If something happens, please don't hesitate to contact me. We're in this together.” I nod and keep myself calm, even if... her words do mean more to me than I want to admit. There's silence for a moment, and then I return a sour look towards Brynhild when the sapphire mare leans forwards and glares at me pointedly. My eyes rove back and forth until I catch sight of Excelsior, lingering shyly near the back of the group: he must have been the one to lead them up from the portal they probably took to get here. I raise a hand to get his attention, then say clearly: “Please see our guests to their quarters. Antares Mīrus, I'd like you to come with me.” “I can see myself to our quarters, I am Valkyrie!” Somehow, Brynhild manages to both whine and snap at me with her response. And as always, she manages to get under my skin, no matter how many times I tell myself to just ignore her and she'll eventually go away. She has to, since she's soulbound to Scrivener Blooms, and he often attempts to slink off while she's in mid-rant about something. “Long before thou wert anything but... blood still in our veins, we were ruling and walking about and... seeing... other guests to their rooms! I do not desire guest rooms! I desire my own room!” I rub at my temples slowly, closing my eyes for a moment. This is not putting me in a good mood for my conversation with her child. “We have discussed this already. The Valkyrie barracks now belong to the new Valkyries.” “'Twas my home first! And I am still Valkyrie!” Brynhild sounds outraged, and I open one eye to glower down at her. I know she's exaggerating her emotions, but that knowledge makes me no less annoyed. “How wouldst thou feel, to have thy ancient home stolen from thee?” “My 'ancient home' was a glass box, Brynhild. You're very free to take it away from me if you like, and lock yourself up inside. For eternity. I think everyone might appreciate that.” I retort, and Brynhild glares at me as I look moodily back down at her, our eyes locked. The worst she can do is punch me, after all, and I'm very used to pain. Finally, Brynhild huffs, and then she turns around as Freya nods politely and perhaps a little apologetically to me. I sigh tiredly and let my shoulders slump as Excelsior is quick to lead the ponies away, then I turn my eyes to the one who remains: Antares. I gesture to him, and he approaches with an awkward smile. He has his mother's eyes, but a coat even darker than his father's and the same rugged white mane. And also much like his parents, he has scars: on his back, where this unicorn once possessed wings, and over his chest. He's not ashamed of them, but nor does he wear them proudly. I'm glad for both of those things: I know the cost of being afraid to show yourself, and I've seen too many warriors who think these wounds are marks of honor. They're not: they're just pieces of our body that never healed entirely, and still carry the aches of the mistakes we made to earn them. My hands tighten my tie, and my eyes study the unicorn before I turn and gesture for him to follow. He does so, politely. He doesn't rush me and he remains quiet and respectful. He doesn't know it, but he's already gone a long way towards getting my approval from these things alone. We walk out into a less-traveled corridor, and he keeps pace with me as I keep my eyes ahead, but watch him in the corner of my vision. Yes, he's nervous, but keeping himself in line, even if a little bit of his mother shows in the way he fidgets. But much as I dislike Brynhild, I also don't not like her. There's a subtle difference there, but an important one. I bring him to my office: it's tucked far away from everything else, past the halls that are still being renovated and opened, past the dust and the cobwebs and the populace. There's only a few other offices around here, in the place many of the Blessed and angels have started jokingly calling 'employee resources.' But it's quiet, and I like my office to be away from the noise and the politics, just like my personal study is a little piece of... well, Heaven. I suppose, knowing where I work, that metaphor must seem like delicious irony. It... is, isn't it? But I don't let my thoughts stray too far, as I sit myself behind my large, clean desk, gesturing for Antares to take a seat in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. Purposefully uncomfortable: just like the portraits on the walls and the bottleneck architecture of the room that gives me plenty of freedom but seems to enclose whoever is on the other side of the desk, it's all designed to keep meetings as short as possible. All very simple environmental psychology. Antares keeps his focus on me, even as he fidgets in his seat. I look back at him, but decide to begin the conversation: out of kindness or because I want to make this quick, I'm not sure. “I've heard several times, on and off for the last few years, that you want to join us and serve as a Knight of Valhalla. And I'm sure that you've been told, Antares Mīrus, this is simply not possible. As it is, the fact you're permitted to join your parents on these little visits to Heaven and to pursue your romantic interests with someone who has, for all intents and purposes, 'passed on...' this is all highly unusual. And not something I willingly sign off on.” The stallion nods to me, and he doesn't speak. I wait a few moments, and when he keeps himself quiet, I continue quietly: “Furthermore, even assuming in the future that you do meet the requirements for an immortal to be permitted permanent residence in Valhalla... and immigration is a long and tedious task... I will not approve it solely on the basis of your unconditional love for Prestige Luster. She is a Valkyrie, and she is a Blessed. And you only recently ceased to age, is that correct?” “Yes, sir. I still need to eat, but... I only need a couple hours' rest each night now to fully recharge, and I'm not getting any older.” Antares halts, and then he smiles a little at me as he meets my eyes honestly. “I want to be with Prestige. That's obvious and lying about it would be pretty stupid. But that's not my only reason for doing this. I thought... I thought I wanted to be a Starlit Knight, but it never suited me. I thought I wanted to be an adventurer, but I realized I never wanted to go anywhere on my own, alone. But I do know what I want to do is protect ponies, and to carry on my mother's legacy. “I have a plan for my future.” Antares continues with only the slightest hint of anxiety, but when he looks up, he's determined. His eyes burn with his confidence. “I'm the son of a Valkyrie. In the past I moaned and complained and whined about being stuck in the shadow of my parents, but I was looking at it all wrong. I'm honored by it. I have something huge to live up to, but the only real thing that was ever stopping me from doing that was myself. “I... I did some research.” Antares is a little more hesitant now, as he plunges into a subject that he likely knows I know every loophole and regulation to, but he seems to think he's found a decent argument in. “An eternity is approximately the span of a single mortal life. If I live for one eternity on the mortal world, I can be transferred to Valhalla with the approval of a Magistrate of Heaven or someone like you and bypass immigration. Then I can apply to be a Knight of Valhalla. “But what I want to be is... I want to do what my parents do. I want to help protect the layers, not just Valhalla.” Antares says quietly and firmly. It's a childish notion, a childish wish... and I respect him for expressing it. “So I'm going to train on the mortal realm and... I would like to apply for a messenger position between Valhalla and Midgard. I understand I have to memorize a lot of laws and duties, and I would only be permitted to travel between Heaven and the mortal world in special circumstances and to deliver sensitive information, but it would be really good for me and it would... look good for when I apply to transfer to Valhalla way down the road.” Antares stops. He's blushing, but forcing himself to keep eye contact, and I can see how nervous he is. All things that tell me he's serious, and given this a lot of thought. I rub slowly at the underside of my muzzle, thinking for a moment... then I shake my head and say quietly: “No.” He looks crestfallen... but he doesn't temper tantrum, he doesn't shout, he just looks... disappointed. Which means he also recognized what he was asking was a long shot, and he asked it anyway. And I like that he's not getting emotional: he recognizes even without me explaining why, why I said no. Good; there's no need to draw this out any further. “I would like to offer you the position of liaison.” I say calmly, and Antares looks up with surprise... and hope. I... I admittedly like the way he brightens up. I should be more impartial, but... I like seeing him this way. “Sleipnir is the official liaison between Midgard and Valhalla, but he has never once filed a report or even sent so much as a status update. Considering the unfortunately-consistent trend of your parents to attract trouble of every shape and form, these status updates would be extremely helpful. I would not only be able to better offer aid from Valhalla, I would also be able to better protect Heaven from any possible egress. “A competent liaison would also be useful for ensuring better delivery standards for the All Father's Day that I believe a certain pony in this room is responsible for starting.” I pause for a moment and study his reaction, which is a lame, embarrassed grin. I see his mother in that look and it gives me both hope and a twist of apprehension in my gut, like I know this is going to end up causing me trouble. “And lastly, I could assign duties to a liaison that I would hesitate to have Freya or Brynhild spend their time on. They are not only free agents, but Valkyries: they are not messengers.” “But I would be?” Antares asks before he can stop himself: if not for his tone, it would be rude. He's quick to correct himself, though, saying hurriedly: “I mean, these duties aren't... combat or search and rescue, but administrative for the most part, right?” “Correct. Politics.” I nod to him, then pause for a few long moments. He's looking at me, excited and eager, but careful to keep himself in check: good. I pick up after about ten seconds of silent measurement. “The position cannot be handled lightly. I will require you to not only spend three months being trained in Valhalla's standards of etiquette, but I will also ask Freya to mentor you in diplomatic relations and have my own personal aide, Excelsior, teach you the basics of conflict resolution. Your physical training will have to be placed on the back burner for now, understood? This job requires more work than simply serving as messenger boy.” Antares nods to me, only hesitating a little. I can tell he already hopes that he'll be able to balance both... but even if his immortality is truly taking root and reducing his need to sleep and eat to almost nothing, I'll be honestly surprised if he can. He may not end up physically exhausted, but mental tiredness can be even more draining. Either way, it'll be a learning experience for him, and how he reacts and deals with the new levels of stress will teach me what I need to know. He's still staring at me, looking like he's having trouble really processing the depth of my words, which is... understandable. And I can see he feels like he's being given a gift, or special privilege, and I have to make clear he's not. I lean forwards, my eyes moody, my voice even as I say: “If you screw this up, Antares Mīrus, I will have all privileges and responsibilities immediately revoked, and I will personally file a report noting your failure, however it comes about. You'll be barred from Valhalla for at least two measures of eternity. I want you to understand the depth of importance of this job.” The stallion winces a little, but he nods quickly and salutes me. “Yes, sir!” He doesn't say anything further. He only looks... ready. Interesting. He has grown up quite a bit. I study him thoughtfully, then shake my head and lean back, relaxing a little in my chair as I tap my fingers slowly against the tabletop. I don't want to give him the official job right away, to be honest... first I want to test him a little more. Ensure he can handle the duties I'm going to give him, make him understand... how hard this job is going to be on him at times, and why he can't simply slack off. An idea comes to mind. I open my desk drawer and pull out a slip of paper and an envelope, and as I pen a short letter, I explain: “I want your first task to be to deliver this to the Gates of Valhalla. It's a great distance away, but as long as you stay on the road, it shouldn't be more than ten hours' march. There's a time-space distortion that allows for fast travel.” “Yeah. Fast.” Antares says before he can stop himself, and I look up at him mildly for a moment, which makes him look a little embarrassed as he clears his throat and nods awkwardly. “I mean, of course, sir. I'll be fast.” “As long as you do not step off the road, for anything.” I warn, and Antares nods awkwardly before I continue: “After delivering the letter, you may rest for twenty minutes, then I expect you to return to the Castle. The same rules apply: do not halt for any reason.” Antares nods uncomfortably, and then he bites his lip before asking hesitantly: “How does the enchantment on the road work?” “It's less an enchantment, more the passive magic of Valhalla... an effect of 'Heaven,' if you will.” I say mildly, and my words have a faint ring of distaste even in my own ears. I can tell Antares, with his natural acuity, is able to read into this... it annoys me on one hand, pleases me a little on the other. His ability to read people is one of the reasons he'll make an excellent liaison. “It works by increasing distance traveled by exponential increments. Space-time magic, difficult to replicate, dependent on the fact the entire path itself is alive with the enchantment, as you termed it. If you step off the path, the magic effect is dispelled completely.” “I... don't get it.” Antares admits after a moment, and I sigh and drop my face in a hand. It's too complicated for me to try and explain to him right now, anyway: better to just assign him his task for now. “Then just don't step off the path and I foresee no problems.” I say distastefully as I fold the letter up and slip it into the envelope, then I pause. I could simply have a short-range portal opened: there's so much energy and time-space distortion in Valhalla that it's easy to create small 'rips' in reality, portals that allow large distances to be passed in moments. But this isn't just about efficiency: this is about giving the still-unknown quantity of Antares a test. “Here. Go find Aria and she'll outfit you with whatever you need. I'm giving you a twenty-two hour window to make it there and back.” Antares winces, then he nods quickly as his horn glows, taking the letter with telekinesis. He stands up, then hesitates for a moment before he gathers the courage to ask: “What if... something happens during travel?” “Then deal with it, but remember your job.” I brush him off: he winces a bit, but keeps his mouth shut and nods awkwardly before turning to leave with the letter. I watch him go, feeling thoughtful before I finally shake myself out and stand: I might as well head back to the library and finish dealing with those reports before all hell breaks loose. I have omitted and edited out some tedious and confidential information, regarding my administrative duties. I've decided for continuity's sake to note this and address the issue of Antares Mīrus, and his return to the Castle of Valhalla... more than ten hours late. I'm not very happy about this. I sit in my office, arms crossed, looking down at him with distaste. He's fidgeting awkwardly back and forth, waiting for me to say something, and I finally ask in a sour voice: “What happened?” I'm neither at my most professional nor my most forgiving. Brynhild has been rampaging around Valhalla causing all manner of problems with Sleipnir, and I have this uncomfortable feeling that Freya has been studying me and trying to deduce who my secretive ally is. The Pious have also been making... strange interactions with my visitors from Looking Glass World: they see m to be trying to leave a impression on them, and get information about Selene... which Brynhild, of course, won't give them. Nor will Freya, but Brynhild's refusals are far louder and far more... direct. Hel has shown up several times: never for any scheduled meeting, rather only to harass, misdirect and worst of all, help Brynhild out in her antics. I dislike that the two appear to be getting along, even if it's often in an exceedingly-hostile fashion. It hasn't done much to contribute to my mood, and at the same time... I'm very nervous about what Hel is learning just by being around the Valkyrie she's shown such an interest in. At the moment, I keep my attention on Antares Mīrus. He's still fidgeting, trying to come up with a good answer, and I lean forwards and bang a palm down on top of my desk, making him flinch to attention as I snap: “Well?” He clears his throat, then grins up at me lamely. I see both his mother and his father in that look and it just serves to frustrate me further, as I immediately understand the future is going to be filled with more events just like this. “Uh, there... there was a mare, and she needed help.” “A mare needed help. You stopped to help a Blessed along the path.” I say slowly, and Antares nods awkwardly before I close my eyes and reach up to grasp my own features, feeling a twist of... disappointment. Like explaining to a child, I say slowly: “This is Heaven. You were sent to deliver a message from Valhalla to the Gates of Heaven. Mares in 'danger' in Heaven are not usually in actual danger, Antares Mīrus, but rather-” “She... she was, though!” he blurts, and I glower at him through my fingers. He winces, but continues hurriedly: “There were... demons, three of them, and she was really scared and... well, they were just harassing her, just being jerks, but... I mean, they were demons...” “Demons.” I say slowly, dropping my hand away from my face and scowling. This is his excuse? “Valhalla does play host to a small population of demons who have immigrated or been conscripted from Helheim. Their presence is not unusual, and they are monitored closer than most Blessed. If there was a serious problem, a Knight of Valhalla would have been sent to assess and deal with the disturbance. We keep a close eye on our citizens.” “That probably came out a little less comforting than you meant it to be.” Antares says, and I stare at him as he stares back at me, his eyes widening slightly before he suddenly rambles on, looking like he's lost control of his mouth: “And we were out in the middle of nowhere, and she was really scared, and they were enjoying scaring her! Hell, it was pure luck that I saw her and...” He struggles for a moment, then looks up almost defiantly at me. “Sure, I could have just left her and completed the mission. And maybe you're right, maybe someone saw and... some Knight was going to poof in and take care of 'em, but when? After they started to hurt her? No, I'm not going to just sit back and go about my business and let something horrible happen, I'm going to go up and... and punch the jerks in the face, and... if you don't like that, then... you can take this job and shove it!” Antares glares up at me, even though he's blushing a little. I stare back at him, and then I slowly close my eyes and reach up to rub my temples before the stallion adds lamely to me: “Although it'd be great if I could keep the job and everything, too. I can hit people faster next time.” I open my eyes and glare at him. He's picking up more of his mother's habits, in spite of how much his father's nature he has, too. He's calm and rational one moment, then there's that burst of... Brynhild... and then he relents a little back into that state of... amicability. And he's becoming less and less embarrassed about his passionate outbursts and his... annoyingly, childishly pure way of looking at the world. That there's a bit of good in everyone, and we can all get along and make things work out. I rub slowly at my face, then sigh tiredly and lean forwards, resting my hands against the tabletop. Yes, he's late. Yes, he did exactly what I asked him not to. And yes, at the end of the day... he probably made the right choice. He's put me in a quandary, but... it's admittedly a dilemma I half-expected, simply because whenever Brynhild or her family get involved... everything that can go wrong does go wrong. I sigh and shake my head slowly, then study the stallion for a few moments before finally nodding to him grudgingly. “I will have a Watcher review the events, and someone sent out to question the alleged victim. If everyone corroborates that you stepped in and aided her in a time of need, then I'll make your liaison position official. I only hope you do a better job of balancing your obligations in the future.” Antares looks relieved... and maybe a little proud of himself, too. But he should be: he's realized that it's not his age or immortality that make him either an adult or mature, but his actions, and more and more he's been tempering his actions to something... noble, in a strange, Brynhildian way. I sigh; I want to question why I'm getting myself involved with another member of Brynhild's family, why I'm actually encouraging more contact with these ponies who are so... so frustratingly emotional instead of logical, but I know why. Because they're better suited to these positions than I am, and Antares... has a bright destiny. I would like to nurture that, and ensure that he reaches his potential: less for his sake, and more for my own. His parents often say that he's better than they are, that he's the one who can become a true hero, and I have come to believe that. Valhalla needs heroes. Champions, real defenders of justice, not just... cardboard cutouts and dressed-up nobles. Sleipnir is perhaps the truest force of 'good' I have ever met, and Brynhild and Freya would do anything to save this universe we live in and protect the innocent... but they do not inspire the same way, they do not fit the image and mindset I want to cultivate in Valhalla. That is not to underestimate their value: only to say that they're... different. Antares may have a past of childish follies, but... they were also while he was a child. He has not grown up perfectly, and he's made many mistakes. But he's learned from each and every one of them, and it's because he's suffered so much for the mistakes that he's made that I have reason to believe he won't repeat them. What truly makes Antares different isn't that he's 'good' or 'pure:' it's that he reflects upon and truly does learn from his mistakes. And Brynhild, meanwhile, still refuses to believe that drinking the fountain water will make her sick, no matter how many times she does so, and then proceeds to spend all day following me around belching and whining and making other disgusting noises from guzzling so much sanctified water. So yes. I'm going to give him a chance. I know that I should give him a chance, for a thousand reasons. I know that he deserves it, and I know that if I can work with him, if he'll listen to me, he'll be a great asset. We look at each other for a few moments; in a strange way, we need each other, and I think he instinctively understands that. I nod to him slowly, and he nods awkwardly back after a moment before he clears his throat and sits up, saying finally: “I... I really appreciate this, Kvasir. And if I can repay you or anything, in any way, I... I will. Because I know that even though I'm working for you, you're really going out of your way for me. Especially... considering my family and all and everything.” I shake my head and give a thin smile in spite of myself. Part of me wants to agree with him, the rest of me feels... well... “No, Antares. I hope that in the long run, I'll benefit from this more than you will.” He nods awkwardly again, and there's silence for a few moments before I sit down and decide that I've done enough testing and poking. I should give him his first real job. “As my liaison, you carry my authority, and you have to be able to act out my orders. You need to be able to communicate, fearlessly, even with those far above your station. I want you to be respectful but firm, and I do not want you to be intimidated: when you represent yourself, you are nothing but a pony. When you represent me, you will insist on being treated as I would be. I do not mean that you are to throw around your power or put on airs or expect ridiculous favors. If they go out of their way to deride or disrespect you, you will respond as if they have derided and disrespected Valhalla and Valhalla's interests.” Antares looks at me blankly for a moment, but with his acuity, I know he understands: he just isn't processing it. I give him a few moments, waiting as patiently as I can until he finally splutters: “So... so I should be a jerk?” I give him a look that tells him I truly appreciate the sentiment, and he winces a little and holds up his front hooves, starting to babble like an idiot, but I quickly hold up a hand and cut him off, saying moodily: “Enough. Yes, if you really want to phrase it that way, you may 'be a jerk.' Most important of all, you must make Valhalla's strength clear, and that we will not back down or be intimidated.” “I... I really don't want to get my head cut off.” Antares replies after a moment, and I sigh in exasperation and rub slowly at my features. “For one, that would be an act of war, and even as weak as we are, Freya and Brynhild are both Valkyries. The Valkyries were the vanguard of the warrior gods and a large part of the reason their wrath was so feared.” I explain slowly, and when Antares doesn't look convinced, I add distastefully: “I will also ensure that you are granted a form of divine protection. A fairly powerful form of shielding.” Antares looks a little relieved, beginning to nod, and then I point at the door and say moodily: “But for the moment, your first task is to go and find Hel, and remind her to hold up her end of the bargain I made with her recently. I also want her to meet with me. Do not take 'no' for an answer.” The stallion mouths wordlessly for a few moment, then he finally manages: “You... you want me to go and... I... you can't be serious.” “Yes, because I'm known for my joking attitude.” I say acerbically, and Antares winces and shrinks back a bit. There's a few moments of silence, and then I sigh and shake my head, gesturing at the door again. “Hel is continually haunting the Valkyries. Nor would she harm you. She has a.... certain affection for you that she's made clear.” “Oh yeah. Yeah, that... makes me feel just great.” Antares says awkwardly after a few moments, and then he shakes his head quickly before sighing and standing up. He hesitates, though, and I tilt my head before he clears his throat and drops his head forwards, saying finally: “Thank you for... you know. Giving me this opportunity. I promise I won't let you down.” I only nod once, and then I sit back as Antares turns and heads to the door. I watch as he leaves before sighing quietly... then slowly scowl and look up as I hear a quiet giggle and feel the faint touch of frost tickle over me. Then fingers grasp into my shoulder, and I look moodily up to see Hel already beside me, grinning widely and winking at me. “Now, Kvasir, you know all you gotta do is say my name and I'll be there in tickety-boo. But don't worry. I left another puppet on autopilot for the kid to find. And to keep up my 'wreck Valhalla the most' contest with Brynhild. I really like that crazy little lady.” I only look sourly at Hel for a few moments, then I sigh tiredly and shake my head out slowly, resisting the urge to rise to the bait. “You've gotten what you wanted. Where is the soulstone orb?” “Oh, stop it. You know I can't lie, Kvasir.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Unless I'm lying about that. But why would I lie about not being able to lie? And if I can't lie, I can't lie to you that I can lie to demonstrate that I can actually lie which kind of proves that I can't lie except not really because I could be lying about that which would make me a liar instead of a not liar...” She halts, staring at me with her hands half-raised, glassy eyes wide, and I simply look at her for a few long moments before saying moodily: “I don't trust you enough to believe that you don't lie to me.” “But that means you trust me a little?” she asks brightly, batting her eyes at me. “Oh, Kvasir, golly-gosh doesn't that make me just feel like the most special little girl in the whole wide world!” “I trust you enough to hope you won't renege on our deal.” I reply icily, and Hel finally groans and rolls her eyes, spreading her arms wide. “If it'll settle the pants you don't wear, Kvasir, I'm shaping it right now. I just hope for your sake you know what you're doing with it.” Hel replies, and I frown at her as the ice puppet sniffs loudly and crosses her arms. “What's wrong, you can't multitask? Or are you just surprised again that I know this is like your anniversary gift for your cute little friend Gymbr? Or are you horrified that I know all about how you're sleeping with Terra, which is really cute and all, and no, I didn't put her up to that. Why in the place named after me would I bother with a spy when I know everything about you already?” I look at her for a few moments, keeping my expression neutral even as a chill runs down my spine. And Hel looks back at me, feigning innocence but only half-hiding that almost predatory grin, that gleam in her eyes. “What's wrong, Mr. Seriouscorn? I'm pretty sure the dragon doesn't still have your tongue.” I stare at her for a few moments, then slowly close my eyes. My mind can't take the combination of stress, idiocy, and disbelief. All I can do is shut the world out for a moment as much as possible before I lower my head and ask Hel in a slow, quiet voice: “Are you going to interfere with what I'm doing?” Hel shrugs, smiling at me coyly... but there's an almost visible ripple through the air as she replies kindly: “I have the feeling that wouldn't be in my best interests to do, Kvasir. You just watch your little hoofsies...” She leans down towards me, reaching up and touching a finger against my nose, drawing my eyes uneasily to hers. “Before everything goes wrong... try and come to ask me for help, won't you? Because it would be so disappointing to see Valhalla collapse again. We're just starting to have some fun now, after all.” I grit my teeth, and then Hel giggles and straightens, hugging herself as her frost-glass eyes gleam. “Just something to bear in mind, honeybutt. You go down in flames, and I lose my main source of entertainment and have to go back to knitting. I really don't want to go back to knitting.” “Thank you Hel, I will take your advice into consideration.” I say as calmly as I can: thanks to the mix of anger and confusion and sheer... discomfort, calm isn't all that hard to fake. My mind is back wanting to just shut down and I feel... I don't know what to think. All I know is that I need a moment aside to settle my thoughts and get things back in order, one way or another. Hel smiles at me slyly, then she bows mockingly before her ice puppet simply shatters apart into snowy motes. These fade rapidly away into nothing, and I sigh quietly before shaking myself out and murmuring, as if to try and convince myself it's true: “Everything is going to be fine.” It's not something... comforting, though. It's a logical truth, yes, but... in a colder, more sinister way than I think most people realize. Because yes, no matter what, everything will be okay in the end: that's because when the end has come and gone, you no longer exist. You can no longer be in a state of great pain or great joy or any other emotional extreme or turmoil. You're just... okay. Things have reached... the end, the inevitable conclusion, whether your life was success or failure, happy or sad or... anything else. Death is the only accountant with one hundred percent accuracy and a one hundred percent success rate. Death is the only businessman who, at the end of the day, has a company that will never run out of customers, nor out of business. And dark and upsetting as that sounds... it also means, conversely, there will never be a lack of life to be lived before we die, and that the universe is always going to carry on. That's what I believe. Those are the thoughts I take strength from, as I pick myself up and shake myself out. And that is what I want to help maintain, as I look down at my desk with a sigh, and hope that I'm making the right decision. Because, ironically, if I fail to protect this post-life palace... Mr. Death with take his business elsewhere, and it will be the living ponies who end up suffering the worst consequences of my inade Top ↑